


Oceans Brawl (Reprise)

by sehnsvcht



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, CROWN AU, M/M, crown by tao, mentions of death and disease, minseok isnt a main character either but he does play a certain role in the story, the mentions of luhan are almost non existent but i love him, this is a repost!!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 14:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7225531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehnsvcht/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He thinks of soft kisses and fleeting touches and gentle words. He thinks of the mornings and the evenings, the moans and the sighs and the smiles, so many of them. He thinks of words, breathed and whispered and exclaimed and simply stated, laughed and cried out. He can’t tell if they’re all memories, or a pure speckle of his imagination, at this point. He can’t tell what’s real or fake, what’s a dream, and what isn’t."</p><p>Or, the one where Baekhyun fights the same battle, constantly, and Yixing simply watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oceans Brawl (Reprise)

**Author's Note:**

> This is me being a shit writer, basically.
> 
> I wrote this story nearly 9 months ago for my friend [Aisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hosieok). And tonight, I'm reposting it, as a Baekxing version of it. I thought it would be a great read and an interesting addition to Baekxing fics out there. It's literally the same manuscript, the same text, the same plot and everything, but with different characters. It's still beautiful, maybe even better than the original, if I'm being honest.
> 
> There are mentions of death and disease in this story. If you're not comfortable with that I would suggest maybe not reading it. Graphic depictions of violence also present... it's in the warnings!
> 
> The idea was given to me by Aisha and mainly consists of [this video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVLXXuOpt-s). Sounds familiar?
> 
> Title comes from the song [Oceans Brawl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOpwYrC_uM0) by the lovely Coeur de Pirate. The song's lyrics are heavily mentioned in the work, and it's a great ass song, so you should definitely give it a listen.
> 
> I'm a terrible editor so please forgive any typos and mistakes. Do not hesitate to point them out though! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, months ago. Thank you!

His skin feels icy cold. There’s something rushing over him, crashing and pulling and cold, so cold, and yet Baekhyun feels nothing.

Or he wishes he wouldn’t feel a thing, anyway.

It’s only when he tries to pry his eyes open that he realizes the push and pull of his body is caused by the water surrounding him. Beneath him, the sand is warm but wet, and he’s pretty sure some of it made its way inside his clothes and on the tip of his tongue.

He doesn’t move for another moment or two. He lets the water crash onto the shore, all over him, once again, twice, three times. He can feel it thread through his hair, caress his skin, weigh down his clothes. The noise and the water both envelop him entirely, numbing his limbs and drowning his thoughts, and for just an instant, just one second, he can almost kid himself into thinking he’s not hurting; only merely floating in a state of mind that’s somewhere between awake and asleep, alive and dead—a place between being conscious and comatose where his thoughts aren’t the main point of focus, but just that feeling of floating, of lightness.

It’s blissful while it lasts.

But it only takes him a few instants to remember why he’s here, why the water keeps rushing, why his heart won’t stop hurting. As soon as it happens, Baekhyun feels numb again.

He pushes himself on his hands and knees, lets the water glide down his clothes and drip onto the sand below him. He watches as each drop on his nose gets bigger, heavier, before getting too heavy to stick to his skin and falls, falls, falls, down to the ground. When it touches the sand, another already starts falling, and the pattern is regular and would be oddly comforting if Baekhyun wasn’t so fucking cold.

His skin feels so icy it could burn, and he can barely stay still with how badly his entire body is shaking. Still, though, he manages to stand up on his two wobbly feet, and stays still, eyes overlooking the horizon.

The sun is setting, and a part of his heart feels like it’s smiling at the fact. He feels just a tad bit warmer as he watches the sun go down, even though the light makes pain erupt behind his eyelids. Above him, when he lifts his head, the sky is still a bit blue. On the horizon, however, just above the ocean, the sun is painting the sky yellow, orange, red.

Blood red.

Suddenly, the warmth of the sun seems to be sucked out of the air, and Baekhyun shivers violently. He can still hear the ocean all around him, as if he were still lying down on the ground, the water rushing all over him. It takes him a moment to figure out that the push and pull he’s feeling isn’t caused by the absent water covering him, but by his lack of balance and his dizziness.

Somewhere in his head, he sees a pair of dark eyes. He’s not sure if they’re loving or loathing him anymore.

Slowly, he starts walking. If he doesn’t shake too much, if he doesn’t drop on his knees too many times on the way there, the weight of his body too much for him… if he doesn’t, he might make it on time to get some sleep.

***

**six months before.**

“’Morning, sunshine.”

Baekhyun’s eyes are still closed, but he can feel the sunlight over his face, warming his skin and tracing yellow, orange, blood red patterns on the back of his eyelids. There’s something else, too—an actual touch on his cheekbone; soft fingertips trailing down to the juncture between his neck and jaw, before tracing back to the high of his cheek, back and forth.

Before he can even catch up with what’s going on, Baekhyun feels himself smiling.

He revels in the touch, in the warmth of the sun, the warmth of the sheets that surround him, and the body that’s sharing his space. He sees shadows moving, his eyes still closed, and hears the gentle rustle of sheets as the body next to him breathes and moves. A warmer, delicate sensation looms over his face now—a soft breath, merely centimeters from his smiling mouth.

The soft voice that stirred him awake speaks again. “I _said_ , good morning. Now wake up and give me some attention.” Lips brush against his own, an ethereal touch in the early morning.

Baekhyun’s smile grows, and he knows his breath probably stinks at this time of the day but he can’t help it when he chuckles, biting his bottom lip. “Go get your attention elsewhere. I’m still sleeping.”

A low whine that sounds more amused than annoyed resounds in their enclosed space. “Baekhyun, come on. Wake up.”

The press of lips on his eyelids makes Baekhyun laugh brightly, his movements still slow and blissfully sleepy when he attempts to turn away. “Fine, fine. Get off, I’m awake.”

He thinks he can hear another soft chuckle from the warm body next to him as he opens his eyes slowly. They take a few moments to focus, and the first thing they see is a pair of loving, shining dark eyes staring right back at him. A smiling face, a dimpled cheek, messy black hair framing the most beautiful face Baekhyun has ever seen.

_My beautiful boy._

“Hey, Angel,” Baekhyun says, still smiling, always smiling, when he’s with Yixing.

“Hey,” Yixing whispers back. He’s so close—Baekhyun can still feel his breath puffing on his skin—and Baekhyun absolutely loves him.

Instead of voicing that out loud, he only comes closer, moulds his lips with Yixing’s soft, plump ones. Their kiss is profound and true, and even after all this time together it still manages to twist Baekhyun’s insides upside down and make butterflies erupt in his stomach.

Yixing hums into the kiss, sliding his hands around Baekhyun’ naked waist to pull him closer, and Baekhyun goes easily, because why would he ever say no? With the feeling of Yixing touching him, feeling him, tasting him, Baekhyun could never, ever refuse him anything.

Their kiss takes time to slowly turn more hungry, more demanding, and Baekhyun takes pleasure in every second of it—from the slow drag of their lips against each other to the persistent push of Yixing’s tongue in his mouth, and it’s all so very intimate and incredibly arousing and yet still filled with so much love that Baekhyun wants to scream with it.

It’s when Yixing groans in his mouth that Baekhyun pulls away slightly, flushed and breathless and so unbelievably happy.

“I love you,” he breathes into Yixing’s parted lips, and relishes in the whimper it pulls out from Yixing’s throat.

“Love you too,” Yixing says, before kissing him. “My own prince, my one and only,” he adds between kisses.

Baekhyun pulls him even closer at that, if that’s even possible. The want that spikes in his bloodstream is royally incredible and overwhelming, and as he feels Yixing’s skin brush against his own, over his entire body, he thinks, there’s no other place he’d rather be.

***

_Love you, boy, with what I know;_

_Hid that love up with my bones._

***

**present time.**

It’s nighttime when Baekhyun finally, _finally_ reaches the elevator of his apartment building.

It’s a lovely, avant-garde architectural masterpiece looming above the ocean, high on a red rock cliff he doesn’t know the name of. The cement is white and pure and warm to the touch when he leans onto it to catch his breath, his head throbbing with pain. He’s the only one that lives there—all the previous tenants had hated its isolated state. Baekhyun only stayed because of that same reason.

He grips the gate that descends to enclose him in the elevator cabin, keeping his balance. His finger lingers on the button of his floor when he presses it.

During the slow ascend to the last floor, he pats his pockets, looking for them. He produces a small paper from his left back pocket; it’s all rumpled and a little wet from the water, the inked numbers faded but still visible.

_34.105 — 118.327_

He looks at the numbers. It’s the same ones every single time, and Baekhyun doesn’t know how he feels about it. Sometimes he wonders if they’ll ever change, he wonders how he’d react if that ever happens. Truth is, though, no matter which numbers are printed on those stupid papers, he knows he’ll find himself just where they’ll take him. He hates himself for it, most of the time.

He feels his eyes growing more and more tired and teary as they stare at the paper. He spits on it, and crumples it in his fist. Just then, the gate slides back up, and Baekhyun enters his flat.

His left leg is hurt—has been for a while now, actually, and he can only drag it behind him as he makes his way to the bathroom. On his way, he passes a console table with an open wooden case resting on top of it. He dumps the crumpled paper in it, before turning on his right, entering the bathroom.

He dares not look in the mirror. He dares not see what will be thrown back at him—a disheveled, torn image of himself that has become his only appearance lately. He dares not face himself, is the truth. He’d rather die—and he’s pretty damn close—than take one single look at that stupid fucking mirror.

Maybe he should punch it, shatter the glass. But that’d require him to look.

He keeps his eyes down as he undresses, careful not to brush against any fresh ecchymoses in the process. They’re littering his body, blue and red and violet bruises, clashing with deep red cuts and artisanal stitches, painting him like a bloody Pollock canvas. Sometimes it feels as if they weren’t there at all, though. It’s all very weird and it hurts too much to think about.

He gets under the cold jet of the water raining down on the shower tiles. He watches as the water’s colour going down the draining changes—clear at first, before taking a slightly pink shade that grows stronger. When most of the dry blood on his skin has been washed off, the water gets paler and paler again, before being completely immaculate once more.

Baekhyun can barely see it, though. Every time, it feels as though the water’s still blood red under him.

His head is killing him.

He makes a quick job at cleaning his injuries, and even takes time to wash his hair. He lingers in the shower a little longer today. He doesn’t know why.

Once he’s clean and dry, Baekhyun doesn’t even bother with eating—he does straight to bed, sheets that were once bright white now dirty and worn out. They brush over his bruises and make him wince at the pain, but the exhaustion of his limbs slowly takes over him. He’s asleep within moments.

***

  **six months before.**

Yixing’s laugh is the most beautiful sound Baekhyun has ever had the chance to hear.

Paired with his charming smile and adorable dimples, with the light in his eyes and the earnest tone of his voice, it’s a recipe for disaster, really; it’s no wonder Baekhyun is so completely gone for him.

Warmth spreads through Baekhyun as he watches Yixing giggle at something he said—he can’t remember what it was for the life of him. They’re both in his kitchen— _their_ kitchen—as Yixing is making them both breakfast while Baekhyun is charged with the task of upmost importance of making tea.

It works for the both of them, and it makes Baekhyun so, so happy.

A little too happy, because it even manages to make him forget about the ever throbbing ache in his head.

At that, Baekhyun feels his smile falter even in the slightest, but makes sure not to let it show—the last thing he wants is for Yixing to…

For Yixing to know.

“Everything alright, love?” he hears Yixing ask, and, shit. So the “not let it show” part didn’t go so well, then.

Still, Baekhyun smiles again, and nods. He knows it doesn’t reach his eyes, but he prays Yixing doesn’t notice, doesn’t mention it. “Always,” he says.

To prove his point, he makes his way to his boy, and leans up to peck his cheek softly, lingering just a little on the touch. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to sell the act more to himself or to Yixing.

One thing remains true, though; the rush of heat that spreads through him when Yixing retaliates by kissing his mouth properly isn’t an act, could never be. Relief washes through Baekhyun, and the previous apprehension darkening his thoughts is almost forgotten after that.

***

**present time.**

Baekhyun finds himself staring back at Kim Minseok, the next morning. Just like every morning, in fact. Since it happened.

They were friends, once. Best friends, in fact. Baekhyun isn’t sure how it all happened—how they went from being the closest of brothers to nearly nothing at all. Nowadays, their exchanges are cold, professional, and the way they do things is nearly chirurgical. It’s odd how they used to share memories together; these days they only seem to share thirty minutes appointments and the same goddamn coordinates every single morning.

There are clues, little things, though, that hint at Minseok caring. Behind the penetrating depth of his gaze and his carefully sculpted features, Baekhyun sometimes catches glimpses of the friend he used to have.

Right now, Minseok is seated in a comfy looking leather seat, behind an expensive looking desk, in an expensive looking office that’s part of his most definitely expensive house. Luxury shines through him and all around him, but his look only says business and confidence.

Baekhyun faces him in a not so comfortable leather seat, his face littered in blotches and cuts, his eyes most likely empty. His head is hurting, still, always hurting. There’s a stupid spinning top standing in equilibrium on the corner of the desk, its colours blurred with its constant movement. Baekhyun wants to topple it over.

“You are aware of the consequences,” Minseok speaks, his voice steady and clear in the room. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. His gaze doesn’t shift from Baekhyun’s face not one second.

Baekhyun only sighs, doesn’t move, doesn’t let anything show that yes, he’s bloody aware of the fucking consequences. He’s been doing this for what seems like forever.

Minseok seems to get it, because he leans in gracefully, opening a similar wooden box to the one Baekhyun owns in his flat, on that stupid console table he’s come to despise with time. From it, he produces a small paper, with numbers on them. Baekhyun needs not to look to know which ones they are.

_34.105 — 118.327_

He picks up the paper. It’s soft under his swollen fingertips and he wants to spit on it again, but he doesn’t. Not yet. Not… not if he actually manages to succeed, this time.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Baekhyun almost startles at the question. He looks up at Minseok, and there it is—a small speckle of concern tinting the brown of his eyes. They’re boring into him with intent, and Baekhyun merely shrugs. He fixes the spinning top when he speaks; it’s still moving, still carefully balanced.

“I just want to see him.”

Minseok keeps looking at him for another beat, before sighing with a nod. When he looks back up, Baekhyun smiles for him anyway as a thank you; it feels like a grimace but it’s worth the small shy grin Minseok throws at him, even though it’s laced with pity and disapproval.

Baekhyun makes his way out of the grandiose mansion that is Minseok’s house, and starts driving.

***

  **six months before.**

The world comes crashing down on a Saturday afternoon.

Baekhyun is in the wide office of his flat, working on a story due the same night—something about a not so well known group playing a series of shows outside the country; a hope for the domestic music industry, as his editor would say.

The sun is bright in the horizon, visible through the wide window facing him, slowly gliding down the sky as the time nears evening. The entire room is painted warm colours, drenching it in something comforting and profoundly emotional that Baekhyun can’t quite pinpoint.

He loves it, though. He loves this room more than anything; it’s their shared space, just like the rest of the apartment, but here… This is the place where both of them can just be themselves, separately. On their own, together. Baekhyun writes his articles and blogs about the things he’s passionate about and manages his journalism career singlehandedly and proudly, at the top of his wooden desk. Yixing writes too—songs, mostly; anything and everything he wants—usually sprawled on the floor, his ankles lazily kicking the air and his guitar never too far away. They each do all of it on their own, but in the same space; sometimes Baekhyun will be looking for a word and Yixing will provide it, sometimes Yixing will voice aloud the flaws in his composition and Baekhyun will come up with his opinion on the matter. They help and shoulder and encourage each other in this room, from time to time, disturbing the silence that usually reigns in there, and it’s just… comforting. It adds to the complicity they share already, giving it a completely different aspect of singularity and independence that Baekhyun somewhat enjoys.

However, now, Yixing’s just left the room to get them snacks—“not the type you’re thinking, silly”—and, well, it’s been a while. Fetching cakes from the kitchen along with a couple of drinks shouldn’t take more than five minutes, at most, with a small break to the bathroom.

It’s been fifteen minutes. Baekhyun is getting worried.

“Yixing?” he calls. His voice is loud in the wide space, oddly contrasting with the calm warmth of the room.

There’s a mumbled response that answers him, barely audible in the great size of their flat. Moments later, though, Yixing shows up at the doorframe, his steps slow, his eyes downcast. Dread starts lacing Baekhyun’s veins slowly, and ironically enough, his headache starts pounding in his head again as he stands up.

“Yixing, what’s going on?” Baekhyun keeps his voice soft, steady, although his heart is hammering in his chest and he wants to throw up.

Yixing slowly lifts his gaze to meet Baekhyun’s. His eyes are red-rimmed and teary, his mouth set in a line that screams anger and utter sadness. Baekhyun’s heart skips a beat, and another, and another. It’s weird how it feels like it stops altogether, even though he still can feel it pounding frantically between his tired lungs.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Yixing voices with difficulty, his tone broken and choking on a sob.

Baekhyun’s heart breaks, and still pounds, pounds, pounds. The sound is rushing to his ears, and his head hurts so much, so fucking much, he’s nearly blinded by it—

“Baekhyun!” Yixing screams, his voice raspy and sad, and fuck, this is it, Baekhyun knows.

Baekhyun knows that Yixing knows, because, if not, why all of this?

And then, as if the bloody universe itself were answering his doubts, Baekhyun catches sight of the letter tightly clutched in Yixing’s right fist. He recognizes the brown envelope in Yixing’s other hand, too—hell, he’d recognize it everywhere; wasn’t it the same thing that tore his life apart merely a few months ago?

A secret he had tried so hard to keep away from Yixing, meaning to… hell, he doesn’t even know anymore. Everything just hurts and cuts and Baekhyun’s head is killing him.

“Baekhyun, is it true?” Yixing’s voice says again, this time gentle but oh so chagrined and desolated that Baekhyun just wants to die right about now.

He can only nod, though, and when he looks up to see Yixing gasp and sob at the same time—the worst sight he’s ever seen, his heart tightly clutching on himself as he watches—he starts, “Yixing, please, don’t worry—“

“ _Don’t worry?_ ” Yixing screams again, and throws his arms in the air in defeat. A laugh escapes his throat, but it’s nothing like the bright sound Baekhyun is so in love with. This is devoid of humour, of life, of anything good and pure that makes Yixing who he is. “You want me not to worry? Bloody hell, Baekhyun, you’re _dying_ —“

Baekhyun is cold, freezing cold, all of a sudden. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s the truth, though, isn’t it—“

“Don’t fucking say it, Yixing!” Baekhyun yells back, and, there it is. What he had feared would happen, all those months ago, when he received that stupid, bloody fucking ridiculous letter.

That same letter that was sent from the hospital where he had passed those tests he never thought would come out to be positive. Bloody hell, he didn’t even read the entire letter—he just skimmed through it, repeatedly muttering “no” under his breath because _it just couldn’t be happening._

But it was happening. It’s still happening and now Yixing knows and it’s not the way things were supposed to happen.

The worst thing is they _don’t even know_ what Baekhyun has—the letter says so, says he’s an “intricate case” with “no clear patterns of symptoms” aside from his ridiculously frequent headaches and exhaustion and the fact that he gets way too weak whenever he gets sick. There was also a bunch of stupid scientific, medical lingo attached to it that Baekhyun couldn’t figure out, that probably explained his situation better than he could ever understand, but. Baekhyun is no physician, he’s a bloody journalist, for heaven’s sake.

It’s not cancer, apparently; there’s been no case of deteriorating cells reproducing at an incredible pace in his body (that’s what cancer is, isn’t it? Baekhyun had to write a piece on it, years ago). The doctors have no idea, Baekhyun has no fucking idea, he’s fucking tired, his head hurts, and he just… he wants it to go away. Dr. Park apparently has a treatment—it says so in the letter—and Baekhyun is bound to start it in seven weeks’ time.

He was going to tell Yixing, eventually. Just not now. Not when things were so good between them, for them… It’s just not fucking fair.

And now that Yixing knows, Yixing thinks he’s going to die—and that breaks Baekhyun’s heart and Baekhyun’s everything and shatters everything he’s ever tried to believe these past few months since he’s got that stupid letter. Baekhyun promised himself he wasn’t going to. Die, he means. He promised himself and he wants to promise Yixing, too; however, it’s not easy to make promises to Yixing if he’s not sure he can keep them.

Not as easy as it is with himself.

And it enrages Baekhyun—because he should be able to give Yixing this, a certainty that yes, things are going to be fine, but he cannot, and it’s _not fucking fair_.

Right now, he wants to punch Dr. Park Chanyeol’s face, before maybe clawing at his own skin, fetching for that _thing_ that’s slowly and silently destroying his body and life with Yixing.

Right now, he’s facing a broken Yixing, and he’s broken himself, and he’s enraged and sad and so, so unbelievably sorry.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out.

Yixing shakes his head. “No, you can’t—you can’t just… you can’t leave me—“

“Yixing, please stop—“

“Baekhyun, promise me—“

“I can’t!” Baekhyun screams. There it is, oh, there it is. Baekhyun doesn’t notice the tears until they blur his vision entirely and has no other choice than to wipe them away.

He doesn’t.

“Why didn’t you fucking tell me?” Yixing says, and Baekhyun wants to kill everything, wants to go back in time, wants to die already.

“How the fuck was I supposed to do that?” and the question is so utterly genuine it hurts. His head hurts, too, and Baekhyun feels like he’s about to pass out.

“Anything, Baekhyun— _anything_ would’ve been better than to find out from a stupid letter you left lying around.”

“You weren’t even supposed to find it—“

Yixing’s laugh rings again in the room, and Baekhyun closes his eyes at the sound. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” he shrieks, unbelieving. “Did you—did you even plan on telling me?”

Baekhyun scoffs. He knows he shouldn’t, but anger is the only reaction right now that seems more bearable than utter desperation. “Of course I was going to—“

“When? The day before the beginning of the treatment? Or when it was gonna come to an end? And what if you didn’t make it—“

“For fuck’s sake, Yixing, stop saying it!” Baekhyun screams, and doesn’t stop, won’t fucking stop, because Yixing keeps saying it, _won’t stop saying it_. “Stop saying I’ll die, stop acting like I’m going to!”

“But you _are_!” Yixing yells back, and it hurts.

It hurts, and there’s a part of Baekhyun’s brain that knows Yixing’s just overwhelmed, and it’s not really him talking, but… it’s like a jab to his heart and Baekhyun isn’t sure if he can take it right now.

He takes a shaky breath, and it’s only when he does so that he realizes that surrounding them is only the silence, and the setting sun behind him. It makes him sick to his stomach.

He shakes his head, and softly says, “Don’t you have any hope?”

Baekhyun watches as Yixing’s expression falls, as he shakes his head, as the drops keep falling from his eyes that look so much more sincere through the screen of his tears. “Baekhyun, that’s not—“

But Baekhyun can’t hear another word—can’t bear to hear another single word from Yixing, from himself, from anyone who has anything to say about this, this thing, in him, that’s ruining everything else. “I think—I think I’m gonna go for a drive.”

“Baekhyun—“

“Alone. Now. I’ll be back later, promise.”

Yixing is still crying, his breaths irregular and way too fucking loud in the room, but he nods still, albeit reluctantly. Baekhyun needs to get away.

He brings his hands to his face, finally wipes the tears from his eyes and cheeks. He breathes deeply once, twice, before leaving the room.

He picks up his keys from the console table near the entrance hall, makes his way to the elevator without another glance or word to the boy behind him.

When he finally reaches his old Chevrolet in the driveway and starts the engine, he can’t explain why this all feels like goodbye.

***

**present time.**

Baekhyun wishes it were nighttime. Then, maybe, the city lights wouldn’t seem so bright, not like they do now against the flaring sunlight.

He hates the city. He hates everything that’s bringing him here, every single day, each just like the one before, the one after. Only a few things differ each day.

Like how far he gets.

Months ago, he could barely trespass the city boundaries without chickening out and driving back home. It was the worst time.

It’s months later now and he knows the mansion he’s heading to almost by heart. He knows which door to take and which halls are empty and what’s the fastest way to the room, that one stupid room.

He hates to call it the throne room—that’s what Yixing had called it, that one, only time he ever spoke a word to him—because to him, it’s more than that. Worse than that. It’s the room that encloses all he’s ever loved and fought for altogether, it’s the room that keeps on ripping that away from him. It’s the room where each day, as it passes, he nearly dies.

He wonders way more often than he should if it’s really all worth it.

It’s odd how time passes here. The drive isn’t nearly as long as it should be, yet he knows he’s been driving for maybe a few hours. It’s as if time was elastic and malleable, controlled by something far greater than Baekhyun. Maybe Yixing controls time here. It would explain many things.

He doesn’t bother parking properly, leaves the car in the street where he stopped.

The huge house standing above is old and majestic, yet also young in the way the delicate flowers at its entrance are shivering with the soft summer wind and how the windows reflect the burning sunlight. The brick is gray and worn out, but still solid and intimidating. Baekhyun knows that its apparent warmth is a trick, a lie—there’s nothing warm hiding behind those brick walls.

He makes his way to the small flight of stairs at the entrance of the house. His left leg barely even hurts anymore; he’s able to skip a few steps and reaches the door quickly.

The halls are still imprinted with the yellow beams of sunlight coming from outside as he walks them quickly. He notices the wind, despite being inside; hot and fresh, humid and dry, brushing away his hair and licking at his skin.

He turns one corner, then another. When he reaches the tall ebony doors of the throne room, he stops.

He could always go back. Baekhyun knows better than anyone what’s waiting for him behind those doors, knows better than anyone that dread is an understatement to how he feels about them.

Yet, it’s as his throat tightens and his eyes start tearing up too soon that he twists the knobs of both doors and opens them.

It’s always a shock, when the room is revealed to Baekhyun. It’s always as destabilizing as the first time, stark white walls, floor and ceiling clashing against the dim sunlight that was following him in the halls.

The throne room is always too bright, too white, too cold and freakishly beautiful.

And it’s always empty, save for the throne, the men, and Yixing.

Yixing, gorgeous, magnificent Yixing, sitting atop the golden throne at the end of the room, his legs crossed with his hands in his lap, elbows on the armrests at each of his sides. He’s dressed in white himself, his pants tight around his legs and the fabric of his shirt sheet and light around his frame. With his head held high and his black hair stylishly dishevelled at the top of his head, his beauty is radiant in the room, his skin almost glowing with it. He’s startlingly beautiful, overwhelmingly so, and Baekhyun would be charmed if it weren’t for the emptiness of his eyes.

They’re still dark and gorgeous, but there’s nothing in them, behind them; it’s as if the body sitting on that luxurious seat at the end of the room was a mere prop in the scene, and it’s heartbreaking. Yixing’s face is completely emotionless, almost mean with it, his smirk cocky and pretentious and so cold it makes Baekhyun’s blood boil and freeze at the same time.

_This isn’t you._

Baekhyun can’t stare for too long, though. The men are still there—an array of fighters dressed in black from head to toe, standing tall in front of him, keeping him away from the throne. Baekhyun swallows. He knows what’s coming.

He takes one step towards them, and another. Stops. Looks up straight into Yixing’s eyes. The boy— _his_ boy—merely lifts his chin, eyes bored and empty. So fucking empty.

Baekhyun takes a deep breath, takes off his jacket, throws it a few feet away. When it hits the floor, the men charge towards him.

***

He thinks of soft kisses and fleeting touches and gentle words. He thinks of the morning and the evenings, the moans and the sighs and the smiles, so many of them. He thinks of words, breathed and whispered and exclaimed and simply stated, laughed and cried out. He can’t tell if they’re all memories, or a pure speckle of his imagination, at this point. He can’t tell what’s real or fake, what’s a dream, and what isn’t.

***

_Pierced your arrow through my heart,_

_Wanted me, now want me gone._

***

Baekhyun isn’t sure how long it keeps going.

He feels pain, stabs and cuts of pain throughout his entire body, and they won’t stop, and he doesn’t want them to.

He doesn’t want to die just yet.

He’s sprawled out on the floor, and the men are surrounding him, he thinks, and they’re hitting him, probably, or else why would he be hurting so much?

Yixing, maybe. But that’s impossible. It doesn’t make sense, none of this makes sense, and why isn’t he fighting back?

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he hears voices. They’re all mixed, some male, some female, all of them soft, whispering, one of them sobbing. He thinks he can hear Yixing, too, but that’s impossible, he knows. He can feel the boy’s eyes on him, penetrating, indifferent.

Baekhyun’s head hurts. He wonders what will happen of him.

***

He makes it out alive. Just like the day before.

Baekhyun makes it out alive, he fights off the men, although he has no clear recollection of that. He knows he must have done something, though—he’s just found himself covered in bruises and blood, and has a certain feeling that not all of it is his own. At his feet, the men are motionless, bloodied themselves.

They won’t move, and it terrifies Baekhyun. His fear is a mere fleeting thought in his mind at the moment, though.

As selfish as it sounds, at least he made it out alive.

He takes what feels like an hour just to catch his breath. When he looks up, Yixing is still staring at him, but finally, finally, there’s something behind those scary dark eyes.

Something like wonder, like fear. Something that isn’t just complete unresponsiveness, and even though it sends an awful shiver down Baekhyun’s spine, it’s still better than nothing.

He only realizes he’s been holding a baseball bat—of all things—when it falls off his grasp. Baekhyun looks down at it when it hits the ground, startling him slightly. His hands are shaking, he notices. He’s surprised he’s not shaking himself.

He starts walking, his legs wobbly and weak. He dares not look up just yet—can’t stand the stare that will be looking right back at him from Yixing. He just…can’t. Not now. Not yet.

Baekhyun picks up his jacket first, puts it back on. It’s ridiculous, he thinks, how he thinks of putting his jacket back. Does it matter? Will that help him achieve whatever he’s attempting to achieve? Is it really necessary? Why does it feel like it is? It only brushes against his bruised skin and makes him wince.

Maybe he’s just looking for concrete pain.

The throne sits at the top of three small steps at the end of the room. Baekhyun almost stumbles upon them like he almost stumbled on his way to them, but manages not to. Only then does he dare bring his eyes to face Yixing’s.

Dark, curious, and terrified. Defiant, hiding behind a screen of fake confidence that doesn’t look good on him one bit. Yixing’s scared, but still holds on to this fake dignified look he’s been sporting for—for how long, now? A year? Two? Baekhyun doesn’t fucking know.

He stops walking when they’re only a foot apart. Each of them stay completely still, and Baekhyun itches for something to happen. It doesn’t come.

Yixing is still staring at him, his gaze calculated and hectic and incredibly annoying—there’s so much going on now, so much movement behind those dark eyes of his that it makes Baekhyun dizzy and _can he just stop doing that?_ Baekhyun’s head hurts and he just wants—

A hand clasps itself over his mouth while a pair of arms holds him back, dragging him to the entrance. Baekhyun tries to fight back, but gives up quickly—that’s exactly what happened the day before. He knows what’s coming, too.

The only thing that’s changed today is Yixing’s eyes.

They’ve awoken.

***

The men dump him in that fucking ocean again.

From the heights of the nameless helicopter that always does the same job. Fly to some random fucking spot above the water, and push him from there.

And then, Baekhyun falls, falls, falls, dives into the ocean and he doesn’t know how he manages to survive every single time. He shouldn’t, is the thing. But he does, because life is playing a trick on him, and he hates it just as much as he hates how badly he wants to go back every single day.

He lets the water guide him, doesn’t dare breathe—it’s not like he could, either way. His mind keeps slipping from dark to light, from being conscious to comatose.

The current drags him to the shore, but he doesn’t know that. Not yet.

It takes a few hours, maybe, for him to reach the sand. The sun is setting. Baekhyun is cold.

***

_Hate you, boy, with what I know;_

_Picked my love up with my bones._

***

The next day, things go the same way.

Nothing changes. Literally nothing. Minseok is still beautifully sculpted in his leather chair, Baekhyun still doesn’t answer his stupid questions. Baekhyun still makes his way to the same mansion, the same old gray house, with the same flowers at the entrance and the same white throne room.

Nothing changes, except for the look in Yixing’s eyes. There’s something there, this time. It’s not what Baekhyun wanted, nor expected, but it’s something, and it’s there.

***

Nothing changes the day after that, though. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Yixing’s still the same, with complicatedly emotional eyes and passive behavior, and Minseok still looks at Baekhyun with pity and poorly hidden sadness, and Baekhyun still gets dumped in that stupid fucking ocean and every single fucking day passes by the same fucking way.

Baekhyun is losing it.

Because as time goes by, he’s slowly noticing things—the spinning top at the corner of Minseok’s desk, that never fucking stops moving. His lack of hunger, and how he never eats. How he keeps doing things, but only remembering them halfway, even if they’re happening right here, right now.

He hates how his reality seems so intangible, so fragile, so completely untrue.

***

It goes on for what feels like forever. Maybe a year. Maybe three weeks. He doesn’t know.

Tonight, though, Baekhyun notices the moon for the first time. Maybe that means something.

***

“You sure you wanna do this? _Again_?”

Baekhyun snaps his eyes to Minseok’s perfect face. His look is harder than it used to be; he’s still concerned and wary and everything but—that’s it.

Something’s changed.

Something colossal, something big, something… Baekhyun doesn’t know. But it’s something.

He doesn’t reply, though. He only snatches the paper from Minseok’s hand that’s extended towards him, and walks out of the room, like he’s done a thousand times.

***

The same day, when Baekhyun makes his entrance in the white throne room, the men aren’t there.

Yixing’s still sitting at the end of the room on his golden seat, but he’s alone—or somewhat alone. A man is sitting on the steps in front of him, his demeanor relaxed, his eyes kind and familiar.

_Lu Han._

And that’s—oh God, Baekhyun is losing it. That’s incredibly odd, that’s impossible, that’s weird that’s… where does he know Lu Han from, again? And what is he doing here, of all places?

It feels as though he’s faced with a puzzle, and Lu Han is the piece that won’t fit anywhere. It’s frustrating and annoying and Baekhyun wonders where the men in black are at.

This is like nothing he’s faced before—nothing like he’s used to—and Baekhyun wonders if it’s any different to the possibility of finding different numbers on that paper, some morning. Different coordinates. A different place, a different situation. Somehow, Lu Han’s presence feels like the same.

Unlike the days before, there’s noise in the room. An irregular, quickening breathing pattern resonates in the large space, echoes against the white walls, makes its way to Baekhyun’s head. It takes him a moment to realize it comes from Yixing.

Yixing, who’s uncharacteristically nervous on his throne, moving restlessly, and keeping his eyes closed. Yixing, who right now looks so much like the boy Baekhyun fell in love with in what seems like another life completely. It sends Baekhyun spinning, spinning, spinning.

He thinks of Minseok’s spinning top. He can’t remember for the life of him if it was moving or not, this morning.

Baekhyun starts walking. From the corner of his eye, he knows Lu Han is following him with his gaze, steady and familiar and anchoring. Lu Han is Yixing’s best friend, Baekhyun remembers. Of course he’d be there. Of course he’d be there.

Baekhyun keeps walking. He climbs the steps slowly, one by one, his gaze stuck on Yixing’s face. His eyes are still closed, his leg is jumping furiously, his hands gripping the armrests with force. His knuckles are white and Baekhyun doesn’t understand what’s happening.

To be fair, he hasn’t understood a thing in what feels like six months’ time.

Then, Yixing speaks.

“Baekhyun, can you hear me?”

His voice is loud and it echoes in the room clearly. It’s charged with emotion, with something Baekhyun hasn’t truly felt or heard in what feels like a lifetime. He feels feverish, all of a sudden. His head doesn’t hurt, but it’s dizzy, and it sends him spinning.

“Yixing,” he chokes out.

His eyes still closed, Yixing smiles sadly. “Baekhyun, I’m so, so incredibly sorry—“

“Yixing,” Baekhyun repeats, interrupts, but Yixing keeps going.

“—I shouldn’t have said anything, shouldn’t have said those horrible, horrible things, I was so scared, and you’re so—“

“Love, please,” Baekhyun tries again, and reaches out.

His arm won’t respond.

He’s stuck, and his head is spinning, and the walls around him are crashing down.

Crashing down, push and pull, washing over him. There’s water, and noise, and Yixing’s voice above it all. Lu Han is there, somewhere, whispering words Baekhyun cannot decipher.

“Baekhyun, I—I’m so sorry. I love you, and I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I—I love you too.”

But Yixing keeps going, keeps on rambling. It only just dawns on Baekhyun that Yixing can’t hear him. Maybe it’s because everything is falling apart around them. Maybe it’s because Baekhyun isn’t speaking loud enough. “Baekhyun, listen to me, I—I have no idea if you can hear me, but please, please know that I love you…”

Baekhyun can’t move, can’t speak. So he lets Yixing speak instead.

“My prince, my one and only. I love you so much, I… It’s been six months. Six months without you. And you’re here, and you’re still breathing, and you’re still alive—isn’t that funny? Hope is what you said I didn’t have, but God, Baekhyun, I can’t keep on hoping if you don’t give me anything to hold on to.”

Baekhyun wants to cry. He doesn’t understand, but he does, too, and it’s fucking with his head and the walls keep crashing down. He’s fairly sure he’s going to die any moment from now.

“Dr. Park thinks the odds are against you. Minseok is fucking scared, and so is Lu Han, and your mum and everyone else. And I—I’m bloody _terrified_ , Baekhyun. You can’t—I know you didn’t promise, but I know you wanted to. And you can’t just leave me. And I know that sounds selfish, but God, you said it _yourself_ …”

Yixing sobs. He’s beautiful, Baekhyun thinks.

“I shouldn’t have let you leave that day, Baekhyun. It’s all just a big fat joke from the universe, isn’t it? You crashing down the car. I’m so fucking stupid, and I’m so sorry, and it’s all…it’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

 _No_ , Baekhyun thinks. _No, it’s not, I left you, and I’m sorry_. _I messed up, and I’m sorry I left you all alone._

Things are starting to feel a lot more like a dream, while Yixing’s voice seems to come from somewhere so much further away.

“That night, you said—you said you’d come back. And then you didn’t. And I thought you had left, and I was so mad, because you couldn’t just… You wouldn’t just do that. Yet I thought you did… And I loved you still. When the call came, I couldn’t believe it. I thought you were gone, Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun wants to cry, wants to shout. He thinks he’s waking up.

“They said you blacked out in the car, and it went crashing on some house in town…some old looking gray mansion. To this day, I’ve never been, can you believe that? I just can’t. I can’t pass by this house, and think, ‘This is where my husband lost himself.’ I just can’t.

“I thought you died just then. And I was so mad. I felt like time was being stolen away from me, too soon, way too fucking soon… Not after what we’d just said to each other. And every single day, I wake up to the dreadful thought that it might be the last words I’ll ever say to you. And… and then I remember, ‘Don’t you have any hope?’”

Yixing’s voice breaks into a sad chuckle. Baekhyun is still watching him, his boy with his eyes still closed. The room around them doesn’t exist anymore. Yixing’s face is blurred in the darkness.

“And I try to have some, for you, love. I tell myself that one day, I’ll get to say it one more time, and plenty of other times, with your eyes looking straight back at me.”

Then, Yixing’s eyes fly open. They’re not black—they’re bright white, and yellow, and orange, and blood red, altogether.

“I love you, Baekhyun.”

***

_Found the fire in the rain,_

_Burning drops drowned all my pain;_

_Listen to the ocean’s brawl;_

_I’ll find you, and then I’ll crawl._

***

**six months later; a year after the accident.**

It’s been six months since Baekhyun woke up.

Six months, following a six-month long coma that apparently send everyone in his entourage in a whirlwind of nightmares and anxiety. Baekhyun still hates himself for it.

They’ve all learned to deal with it, though. With his absence, yes, but also with him waking up. With facing him, alive and well, safe and sound, and after some time, able to answer their questions.

_Why didn’t you tell us anything? What were you thinking? How could you?_

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

_I’ve missed you, I love you, welcome back._

Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Yixing was there, though, through all of it. Guiding, helping, soothing, kissing away the nightmares of white rooms and moving oceans. An anchor through it all, and Baekhyun has never loved anyone as much as he loves him.

He’s told Yixing about the dream—the same freaky, feverish dream that kept on happening and stabbing at his thoughts and how much it all hurt. Yixing listened, and comforted him, and loved him that night, in the simplest and most beautiful ways.

They’ve slowly picked up the pieces, though, and learning to love and trust each other again wasn’t simple at first—it took Baekhyun nearly two months to leave the hospital, having to follow coma aftercare as well as that stupid treatment for that stupid nameless disease that got him there in the first place.

Baekhyun still hates his body for it, sometimes.

It also took a while for Yixing to fully let him make his own decisions—“I’m only looking out for you, love”—until the day Baekhyun made him spit it all out, about how Yixing was scared of losing him again, but also of having Baekhyun hide things from him, again.

So Baekhyun promised, and knew he’d keep that promise, too.

And so they made it through it all, not without fights and tears and frustration, but not without kisses and hugs and nights spent in the reassurance of each other’s arms, either.

The pain in his head is gone. The love in his heart hasn’t stopped growing.

***

_“Every hero, are meant to guard the gentle in the heart. Each perseverance, is meant to chase for the gleam of hope.”_

***

**The End.**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, feedback is always incredibly appreciated! :)


End file.
